Page 91 of Hoofin’ It

“You asked someone for advice, didn’t you?” The amusement in Marian’s voice would’ve stung if I hadn’t cheerfully accepted my ineptitude years ago. “Who did you ask?”

“I asked my mother to pretend she was Dad, then gave her the model of the guns. She didn’t even think about it before informing me the correct response was marriage.”

Snickering, Larry drove us away from my apartment and into the depths of Lower Chicago. “Papa is going to be so amused to hear about this.”

“I’m expecting his assistance with the kidnapping. It can be partial payment for making off with my parents earlier.”

“Papa did find it rather humorous you ditched them so effectively. I’ve been asked to assure you he is taking good care of them. They’re sleeping off his feeding until you get in.”

“Still recovering from the earlier kneecapping?”

“A little.”

“And Marian’s shot today?”

“Healed. Werewolf blood is very potent. Would you like to handle the phone or the dress first?”

“Phone. It’s faster. Leave the meter running while I’m inside getting a new one.”

“That will cost Papa dearly.” Larry made a thoughtful sound in his throat. “If you shop at the canal, you can take care of both your errands at the same time in a rather public place. I’ll leave you my card, so when you need to call me on your new phone, you’ll have my direct number. I’ll run the meter the entire time and be at your service.”

“That will cost Ernesto dearly. I like it.” Chuckling, I settled into the seat and stared out the window at Chicago’s gloomy underworld. In a way, I appreciated the place’s harsh honesty. The dim lighting told the truth about the place and its nature, especially far from where the roads rose to the city above. The denizens of the shadows made no efforts to hide what they were and that they lived in darkness.

In Upper Chicago, looks deceived; I’d been on the force long enough to understand the truth of human nature. I liked to think I was one of the better humans, but in reality, I had survived in the city by making friends with unsavory people and consorting with demons.

Had I become as shady as those who lived beneath the streets while masquerading as a good person? I no longer knew with certainty I was one of the good guys.

“That’s a troubled expression if I ever saw one,” Marian murmured. “What’s bothering you?”

“What isn’t bothering me might be an easier question to answer.” The confession was easier than I expected.

“Walk me through it.”

“I’ll only tell Papa the juiciest bits,” Larry promised, his tone so playful he got a laugh out of me.

“Why would the captain send that many cops to my place with the bogus excuse of wanting my concealed carry permit number? He could pick up the phone, dial a number, and have it in less than five minutes. There’s no reason to send patrols to my apartment since he knew I wasn’t going to relinquish the number without a legitimate reason.”

Marian sighed. “Or why didn’t he have a cop ask for it while you were outside your apartment? Then he would’ve had legal grounds to check it. He set those visits up so you wouldn’t be forced to provide the number unless you wanted to. The whole thing stinks. I have two theories. How many can you come up with?”

“I could think of a few.”

“Humor me.”

I replied, “One. He caught wind of a death threat against me and decided one of his ex-cops being killed during a discrimination trial would look really bad for the CPD. Two. He’s looking for an excuse to nail me and thinks if he does a lot of visits, he might catch me in the act. Three. He wants to forge a copy of the permit and use it to frame me for something. Four. Someone tipped him off about Ernesto coming to my place, and he hoped to make an arrest. Five. He hates me. I could go on.”

The look Marian shot me worried me. “The first one was on my list. That last one should have been on my list. The others are viable, which disturbs me more than I care to think about. What type of hellhole town is this, Shane?”

“Yeah, things would have been different if I’d poked a little deeper into the discrimination issue before being hired by the CPD and moving here. I underestimated what it meant to be a quota filler.”

“With your education, grades, and academy performance, why did you pick Chicago, anyway?”

“I thought it’d be a challenge. I wanted to work with the dogs or one of the more active teams and thought if I had experience in a good force, that would simplify things for me.”

“On paper, you’d be right. Chicago does have a reputation for producing good cops.”

“Unfortunately, that reputation is founded on crap politics. Here’s how the CPD actually works. If your dad is a cop, your resume gets bumped up the list to be looked at. If both of your parents are cops, you get kicked to the front of the line. I’m pretty sure that’s the only reason my resume got looked at; it’s simple to check someone’s pedigree, and the first thing they look at here is who you’re related to. If your pedigree is good enough, then they look at your background and species. I had an instant flag as someone who’d been exposed to lycanthropy; it was part of the application. After that, they look at experience, magic rating, and education. I filled two quota boxes, so I got hired. When my stints in Lower Chicago didn’t wash me out, I got shit patrols, usually in the more dangerous parts of town—or places where run-ins with lycanthropes were more likely. And that’s how the story ends.”

“You were on patrol and got called to the traffic accident. Your insurance company and the CPD worked together to screw you out of your career.” Marian inhaled, and when she sighed, she shook her head. “I’m amazed the CDC is actually taking it this far.”